


The Manservant's New Dress

by claudine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Comment Fic, Crossdressing, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudine/pseuds/claudine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen and Merlin have a secret. Arthur finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Manservant's New Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as commentfic.

Merlin held the dress to his skin reverently. It was smooth and cool to the touch. Wine satin, it was, made out of the finest silk. Gwen had a wonderful eye for quality and detail.

She had been the one to discover him in one of Morgana's old gowns, twirling in front of the mirror, his lips red with rouge. Afraid and ashamed, he'd tried to hide, but after she had gotten over her initial shock, she hugged him awkwardly and said that she could bring him more, if he wanted. He thought then that he could never love her more.

Yesterday was the day of his birth, and the knights and he had celebrated in typical Knightly fashion in the tavern. They had fun drinking ale and roughhousing, but the highlight of the evening was when Gwen had passed him a parcel, wrapped in simple linen ( _discreet_ ) and tied in twine. Her smile said it all. In his excitement, he had gotten an erection that he manfully tried to hide. Thankfully no one had noticed.

Coming back to the castle had never been sooner. Silent like a mouse, he crept to Morgana's room, to the slightly-dusty mirror that he wiped down with a palm. It was with slow and steady movements that he removed his clothes, but his hand trembled as it hovered over the tent in his breeches. Hesitating, he rubbed once or twice, moaning at the slight relief, and then pulled them down.

He slipped into the dress, awkwardly buttoning up the back. How did women do this every day? Halfway he stopped to admire his reflection in the mirror. He was flat (of course) and built like a twig, but the cut and drape of the dress made him look beautiful. The slippery slide of the fabric on his skin felt divine, and he ran a hand over the fitted sleeves, marveling at the texture and the tiny embroidered flowers at his wrists.

Smiling, he continued doing up the buttons until the last few, and as much as he stretched and tried to contort himself, he couldn’t reach. It was really too bad.

“Need help, Merlin?” a voice called out in the darkness. Merlin shrieked—no—shouted manfully and whipped around. It was Arthur, who looked a little inebriated.

“Sire!” because he was in such shock that no other words came forth.

Arthur stepped forward, turned Merlin around, and did up the last three buttons.

“What a fair damsel my manservant makes,” he said, breath washing over Merlin’s ear and smelling of ale.

“Arthur, you’re drunk,” Merlin weakly replied as he tried to wonder what in god’s name was happening.

“Far… far less than the others. I had grain reports to go over, after all,” Arthur said, actually sounding quite coherent.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? About… this.”

“What? Oh,” Arthur replied, “You look like you dressed up just for me, Merlin. All that satin. It makes you look even more fuckable than you already do. I think I’d quite like to peel you out of the dress, inch by inch.”

Merlin trembled, his previously wilted erection slowly coming to life, throbbing underneath the fabric of the dress. Thankfully he hadn’t removed his smallclothes or the front of the dress would have been soiled with pre-come.

“I’ve been wondering for ages, you know,” Arthur said, “why you were always staring wistfully at the noble ladies at court.”

Merlin shook his head.

“I thought you had a lady love, perhaps, but then I asked Guinevere, and she said you didn’t.”

Merlin turned around, his face flushed with shame, thinking that he should probably find a way to extricate himself out of this situation as soon as possible. It was humiliating; Arthur would make fun of him in the morning for this. He tried to push him away.

Arthur stopped him with a firm grip, crushing the bones in his wrist as he manhandled him to the bed. Merlin yelped but acquiesced, feeling the blood thrum in his veins at this roughness, not wanting to be treated like a maiden.

“Turn over,” he said, the timber of his voice going straight to Merlin’s cock, “please.”

If the command hadn’t already turned his legs to jelly, the request would have. Merlin turned around onto his belly, pulling the drapes of the skirt to his waist and shivered. Of _course_ the sheets would be silk, too, these were royal chambers after all.

Behind him, he felt Arthur put a large palm on his back, moving down his spine, making the satin of the dress leave cool trails on his skin.

“I love how you’re wearing red, Merlin,” he said, “my colour.”

“Gwen, Gwen chose it,” Merlin replied, voice muffled by the pillows. He wasn’t sure he meant to let out their secret.

“Did she now?” Arthur drawled. “It marks you as mine, this red.”

Merlin was thrusting against the sheets now, having pulled down his smallclothes earlier. The friction of the cool silk against the head of his cock felt nothing like his hand or the rough, woolspun sheets in his room.

He spread his legs, expecting Arthur to get on with it. Instead, to his surprise, Arthur gripped his thighs and pulled them close, rubbing some sort of oil between them, causing him to make a small noise as the coldness of the oil hit him.

“Such a baby, Merlin,” Arthur breathed, and then peppered his thighs with kisses, his stubble scraping against his skin.

“I’m going to put myself here, between your thighs. Grip them, but not too tightly.”

Merlin groaned as he felt Arthur put his cock in between his oiled thighs, the heat coming from it quickly heating his skin, the first slow, slippery slides of his prick hitting the base of his balls.

They set up a rhythm, Merlin rubbing himself on the sheets and Arthur sliding in and out of his thighs, which he trembled to grip, keeping a narrow channel for Arthur to thrust into.

He gripped the heavy folds of the dress with one hand, the tactile stimulation from all fronts causing him to grow ever nearer to his orgasm, until with one last, brutal thrust from Arthur, he came, come spattering on the sheets and dress. His thighs slackened with the post-coital haze and Arthur huffed as he pushed his thighs together, thrusting one, two, three times until he too, came.

Panting, Merlin reached beneath them and palmed Arthur’s cock, still spurting the last dribbles of come, and mixed it with his own, painting on the sheets messily.

(Somewhere, Morgana wakes up from a nightmare and proclaims that she’d rather drown in her own blood than see that servant shagging the prince in her bed. Too late, though.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Morning After (The Destiny and Chicken Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/680711) by [riventhorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn)




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